


With The Words Of A Love Song

by alexenglish



Series: Tumblr Fic [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Memorials, Mourning, Pack Feels, Platonic Relationships, RIP Allison Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We’ve be doing so well. Let’s just keep —”</p><p>“Acting like she didn’t exist? Pretending like she wasn’t the biggest part of our lives. Like she wasn’t one of our best friends. Like we didn’t love her?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	With The Words Of A Love Song

_If I die young, bury me in satin_  
Lay me down on a bed of roses  
Sink me in the river at dawn  
Send me away with the words of a love song  
  
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well  
I’ve had just enough time

 

The tension in the room is stifling. **  
**

“We should talk about this,” Scott says. He has to, no one else will. All he gets in return is blank stares, maybe some disbelief. Scott stares at the ceiling for a minute and counts to three in his head.

“This is why you called us?” Stiles asks, voice sharp and defensive. It feels like betrayal: Scott bringing them all together for this instead of — Instead of letting Stiles deal with it on his own. Talking to Stiles in private about it. He still feels so _raw_. He doesn’t think he can be around the others like this. Besides — False pretenses, much? Stiles thought there was an emergency.

“I don’t want to be here,” Isaac says. It’s quiet, but firm, under Stiles’ loud voice. Everything Stiles has been doing is  _loud_ , frustrated, like he’s the only one suffering. Isaac should be gone already. Argent’s plane already left, he should have been on it with him. It sounded like Scott _needed_  them. Isaac should be less of an idiot.

Lydia doesn’t say anything.

“Guys,” Scott says, going from zero to pleading real fast. He can’t just let them ignore the whole thing. They’re broken and fractured. They need to heal and they need to do it together. Stiles’ eyes are directed at the floor. Scott feels bad, he does. He tricked them into this discussion and they probably won’t forgive him for it or see why it’s necessary. Scott’s the alpha now, it’s his job to help them.

“What do you want us to do, Scott?” Stiles ask, angry. Angry for being put in this position, angry just to  _be angry_. It’s all he feels anymore: anger and regret. The slow burning of guilt that weighs heavily on him every day.

_I’m 147 pounds of pale skin — With the added weight of my friend’s — She’s dead and it’s like I’m carrying her around with me._

“I want us to talk,” Scott says. He sounds desperate.

“No fucking way,” Isaac says. No way is he talking about it with Lydia and Stiles, Scott should know that. He’s not friends with either of them, he doesn’t want to be.

Lydia still doesn’t say anything

“So, we’re just going to ignore it, then?” Scott asks, throwing his hands out, looking at each of them in turn. Isaac meets his eyes and looks away, Scott knows he’ll eventually relent. He can’t get a read on Lydia at all, but Stiles will wear down, too. Scott knows it. He’s counting on it. 

“Yes!” Stiles says. “We’ve be doing so well. Let’s just keep —”

“Acting like she didn’t exist?” Scott demands, finally giving into his frustration, voice raising. “Pretending like she wasn’t the biggest part of our lives. Like she wasn’t one of our best friends. Like we didn’t  _love her_?”

They all loved her, all of them did, all in their own way. Allison being gone has been painful for all of them. They’re all left with a gaping hole in their chests, bleeding out all over. She’s gone and they’re ignoring it, trying to pretend like they’re alone in their grieving. They’re not, Scott won’t let them be.

Everyone stares at him for a long time, eyes fixed firmly to his face. Scott can feel the hot tears at the back of his eyes. Stiles has that headache pressure he gets when he’s trying not to cry. The room smells like frustration and pain, the salt of unshed tears. Isaac’s the first one to give in, growling.

“What do you want to do about it?”

 

 

“I’m going to barf,” Stiles says, for the millionth time. Lydia’s tired of hearing it. 

“You don’t have to be here,” she says, sharp and frustrated. It feels like that’s all that’s between the four of them anymore. Pain and anger. Lydia wonders if it will get better or if they’ll just be in pieces for the rest of their lives because of Allison. 

“I want to —”

“Then shut  _up_ , you’re first.” 

Stiles is first because if he sees anyone else get it done, he’ll pass out and it won’t happen. He can’t believe he’s going to do this. The tattoo artist pats the seat, like he’s not about to inflict terrible pain on Stiles’ person. This is the worse idea they’ve ever had. Including the time they challenged the Alpha Pack. They’re idiots.

“I’m going to apply the stencil and have you look in the mirror, you can tell me if that’s where you want it,” he says. His name is Tegan and he’s some sort of mystic tattoo artist with magical positivity ink that Deaton referred them to. They won’t have to deal with a normal tattoo artist freaking out over disappearing tattoos. 

The tattoo artist disinfects the area, applies some gel, and lays the stencil down. The thick, black arrow shoots straight across the top of Stiles’ left shoulder, where the Lichtenburg figure was when he was possessed. It’s fitting, considering the nogitsune is the one that got them into this mess. Stiles looks away, trying to push the thoughts out of his mind.

“Is that a good spot?”

“Fine,” Stiles says. Tegan makes him lay down, left arm hanging off the table. It takes awhile longer for him to get started, but once he does, Stiles clenches his eyes against the buzzing —

It  _hurts_. Constant scratching against his skin, vibrating hard over the bone. Tiny ant bites, kitten scratches, over and over, burning. Stiles clenches his hands and doesn’t make a noise, doesn’t move.

He thinks about Allison — the look on her face when —

No.

The first time he saw her, Scott’s love-at-first-sight face. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. Her dimples when she smiled. The way she was so fierce and so proud.

He loved her because Scott loved her and he loved her in his own way. The way that made his heart warm up when he thought about her, that made him seek her out just to say hello. Friendship with Allison was easy and natural, nearly as natural as friendship with Scott. She loved so readily, the only requirement being that you love in return.

The pressure behind his eyes builds. Stiles bites his lip and doesn’t cry. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t move.

 

 

 

Isaac watches as the tattoo artist lays down the tiny sketch on the inside of his wrist. He thought about making a big declaration, but it didn’t fit. They weren’t in love, not even close to it. Isaac knows that he could have loved her, but they didn’t get around to it, there wasn’t enough time.

Instead, they were something small and fragile. They made the most of the in-between moments. Isaac remembers, vividly, her hand on his wrist, wanting him to stay. Her hand on his wrist, dragging him into bed. It always amazed him, how delicate her grip felt. Considering the damage she could cause with a bow in her hands, or  _ring knives_.

Her hands were a thing of beauty.

When it gets bad, Isaac imagines her hands rebuilding him.

Falling in with the pack after his dad died was one kind of healing. The healing of getting out of a bad situation. But, it wasn’t ever the type of healing he needed. The pack was rough around the edges, always dangerous. Sure, there were good moments. The feeling of the  _moon_ , for one.

It’s nothing that has ever existed. It sang in their bones. For the first few weeks, it was all him and Erica and Boyd could talk about. It made Erica manic and elated, it brought Boyd out of his shell. It made Isaac feel powerful where he had never been before. He felt in control.

Allison made him feel out of control, but only in the sense that she was taking control  _for_  him _._ With her, he could be wild and she would take care of him. She could have rebuilt the love in him that he needed. He could never get that from the pack. “Healing love” wasn’t part of the Hale package, but Allison had it in her.

They could have been so good, they could have been —

Isaac stares firmly at his lap as tears slip down his face.

 

 

 

Lydia gets hers on the back of her neck, small and secretive. What Allison was to her was a secret. Lydia built her reputation on not needing anyone, but she needed Allison more than anything. She needed Allison like she needed to breathe.

Allison knew too. Behind all of her encouraging smiles was knowledge that she was helping hold Lydia up. She called Lydia a survivor and she called her brave, but Lydia was only a survivor because she wanted to survive for Allison. Without Allison, she would have drowned. After the bite, after Jackson.

Werewolves talk about anchors all the time. Someone or something to keep you from giving over to the animal side. Allison was Lydia’s anchor. Without her, Lydia would have been feral. She would have gone even further down the rabbit hole. She would have ended up in Eichen House.  

She puts it on the back of her neck to remember — The nogitsune’s breath on the back of her neck as he goaded her about the death she felt in her throat. The way it prickled, hair raising, when the Oni showed up, when she realized it was Allison. A reminder to be brave, to keep going when she wants to collapse.

When the artist is done she launches herself at Stiles and loses it completely in his arms. Sobs tear out of her throat, hot tears spill down her face. Stiles holds her as she comes undone. Without Allison, Lydia is drifting away, terrified without an anchor.

 

 

 

Scott almost sends them out of the room when he gets his tattoo, but that would be hypocritical. They need to do this together, to be there for each other. He already has the bands on his arm, but that was from before. It marked importance. This is to mark loosing something important, growing from it.

He gets the arrow down his spine. Mid-back, right behind his heart. Tegan stylizes it so that there’s no front and no back, both sides have arrow heads. There’s no beginning and no end. It’s as easy to fall as it is to fly.

While Tegan works, he doesn’t cry. He thinks it might be impossible to cry anymore over Allison Argent. He’s been doing that a lot lately. When his mom found out she said “oh honey”, like it hurt her and held him while he cried. In the dark, at night, he’s cried enough.

He replays every touch in his head, every sweet exchange they ever had. He misses her more than anything. It feels like he’s missing an arm or his heart is outside of his body. He’s completely numb except for the pain, which is pretty much the opposite of the definition of numb, but it’s the only word that fits.

It feels like he’s moving through each day without knowing what’s going on. It feels like he’s constantly in a tunnel. His world is smaller without Allison. It means so much less. Day after day, he has to force himself to get out of bed. Maybe this will help him remember why he needs to keep living. For Allison.

 

 

The ink is wrapped in plastic wrap, the room smells like burnt flesh. They’re all wiping their eyes and not looking at each other. They haven’t talked about it, but Stiles knows it’s coming. They all got the tattoos and the words built in their throat. Stiles can feel them stopped up, he’s just waiting for the dam to break. Lydia takes a deep breath.

“Allison was the best thing that ever happened to me,” she says, biting her lip and meeting their eyes one by one. “This one time…”

**Author's Note:**

> [aleksanderenglish](http://aleksanderenglish.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr


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